Things change
by Scooterstripes
Summary: Short story about Dylan because things happen, people, change and nothing is ever the same any more. May be triggering. M
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own this. So go away**

Before, Dad would have yelled at him for staying in the shower too long, and wasting all the hot water.

Now, when he registered that his son had been in the shower for almost an hour, and discovered him curled up, crying, underneath the blast of water, he didn't say a word. Just turned off the tap, wrapped him in a towel, and carried him to his room.

And the next day, Dylan refused to talk about it, slamming the door and tipping his breakfast in the bin on the way out.

Dad didn't notice.

Not that time, or the next, or the next.

And when he finally did notice, he didn't know what to do.

(Dyl?...)

(Go away, go away, go away. You don't know shit. You don't understand. Just please Please PLEASE go away)

And because he didn't know what to do, he tried to ignore it, and when that didn't work, he passed the problem onto someone else. He told Dylan's teachers, and they tried to deal with it.

Which meant more hugs, more talking, more god damn people trying to understand, when they clearing didn't

Before, his teacher's would have told him off for swearing in class.

Now, they started at him all doe-eyed and understanding, and asked him politely if he was okay.

He learnt that he was immune.

He learnt that when your Mom died, and you stopped eating, people stared through you like you weren't there

He learnt that you could cry in class, and run outside, and nobody batted an eyelid.

Sometimes a teacher went to stop him, but halted at the very last minute, unsure if they should.

Sometimes they tried to get him to 'talk', but he refused.

And they seemed happy with the counselling session once a week, when he stared at the wall and remained silent.

(secretly he wished they would say something, but they didn't care, so it didn't matter. It didn't. Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up)

Before, he slept every night, no nightmares, not fear of dark.

Now, he couldn't. All night, he lay awake, knowing that if he fell asleep, he would regret it.

And during the day, all he _wanted _to do was sleep. Sleep sleep sleep. It was easier than facing the world.

He fell asleep in class, and during dinner, and in the principle's office.

They never told him to concentrate, or not to be rude, or to respect that this was a 'learning area'. They just let him sleep.

Which was another thing they would never have done before.

And when he fell asleep in the principle's office that was when shit really went down. That was when they found out. That was when they checked, because they were 'worried' about him (no, really, I'm fine) and that was when they told Dad.

And that was when he cried, and they took away all of the knives, as though that would stop it being his fault, and that was when everyone stopped talking to him, but instead started talking of him.

Because he had changed.

Because everything had changed.

***A/N**

**yeah.**

**hey.**

**Review?**


	2. The first time

**Still not mine.**

The first cut was an accident.

Or at least half an accident.

He slipped in the shed, and sliced his arm on a sheet of metal, warped and bent in the corner.

It hurt, but only a few drops of blood popped out, the skin red and raw.

He didn't tell anyone, because it wasn't a big deal.

But that night, he did fall asleep. And he woke up from a dream, oh shit a dream, oh god make it go away

and she was dead, and

it. was. all. his. fault.

and they were all dying,

lying around him begging, and

he. didn't. do. a. thing.

And he woke up crying, into a world where (shut up shut up shut up shut up) only half of the dream was true, but half was enough, so maybe the rest was true as well?

And he beat his head against the wall, and then he found the cut on his arm, and, and,

He didn't make another one.

Or stare at it in fascination or anything.

He just squeezed it.

More blood came out this time.

And it hurt more this time.

Red used to be his favourite colour.

He didn't think it was now.

Because it wasn't a _good _colour.

It was the colour of punishment, because you did something wrong, and you deserved it, and it was the colour of blame.

The blood got on his sheets, so he threw them out, and bought new ones the next day.

It wasn't a big deal.

It wasn't.

(Shut up)

The sheets weren't red anymore

(Shut up)

They were clean

(Shut up)

And innocent

(Shut up)

And it was going to be alright.

It was.

***A/N review.**

**And go read 'Alone', kay?  
Good.**


	3. Then Afterward

**If this was mine, I don't think I would be here, would I?**

***A/N I think I hate my family. Apart from K, but he hates them too.**

This world has taken me by storm,

it makes me feel like running.

This place is making me transform,

until I feel like nothing

_The Flame in all of Us – _Thousand Foot Krutch

Later, there were a lot more cuts.

And a lot more dreams.

And most of the cuts were influenced by the dreams.

Apart from a few, like the fifth one.

The fifth one was because he got a new teacher, and it was Mother's day, but he had to go to school, because if he didn't Rosie wouldn't want to. And Rosie had to, because if she didn't he was scared that she would turn out like him. And he might be messed up, but he wouldn't – couldn't – let his sister be the same.

And his new teacher's name was Mr Carmichael, and he decided that instead of a lesson, he needed to get to know the class. And because it was Mother's day, he asked for everyone to tell the class their first memory of there mother.

And when it was his turn, everyone stared, but he stood up and he managed not to scream or yell.

And he said the first memory was a hug.

They were on the beach and he got knocked over by a wave and she picked up (mommy) and carried him over the hot sand to their picnic rug, and held him in her arms (mommy).

And he could remember the warmth of her skin that day, and the way her arms held him together, just when something had dashed him apart.

(Mommy)

And when he stopped, he realised that his face was wet from salty, salty tears, and he was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

Mr Carmichael stared, but he didn't care.

Because that was when he realised.

He realised that she had always been there to stop the world from getting in. And now that she was gone (Mommy) the world was pulling him apart again, and she wasn't there to hold it all together.

That was the first cut he did at school.

He sat on the toilet seat with his feet up, and dragged a razor across his stomach, not because he thought he was fat, not because he wanted to do it there.

Just because that was easiest to reach.

Blood spilled out, and he vaguely heard the bell ring.

When he held tissues against the cut, they turned soggy, and red seeped into the white. It hurt much more this time, and he tried not to cry out.

(Mommy)

Crying out would mean he was a coward, and then everyone would know, and they would hate him.

Though they hated him already.

They did.

Eventually, it stopped and he felt dizzy.

But he was so dizzy that he felt like he was floating. Like all the red in his body was gone (cause now he knew that red was a bad colour) and now he was free.

It was good.

He knew that it was good.

After that, he did it more.

Not so much that all of his red was gone, and he felt light and floating again, because he didn't deserve that.

He only did it enough so that he knew that he could bleed the red out if he needed to.

And none of them knew, and it was his secret weapon.

For the days when they hated him (they never said they did, but he knew, oh he knew) and the nights when he dreamed those things.

Then, the red was there, ready to be bleed out, if he need to.

When he needed to.

And it was safe, and he was fine.

(Mommy)

***A/N **

**Thanks to **Anonymous **for reviewing. You were the only one, and it's nice to know someone cares.**

**Everyone else, review?**


	4. And they tried to fix the Hole

Falling over and over again

Oh, why does it have to be this way?

_With Eyes to See and Ears to Hear – _Sleeping with Sirens

Of course, he never told them when he did them all.

In fact, he never told them about any of them.

He ate cause they made him, but only when they made him, and inside he laughed, because they took away all the knives. Like the knives were the problem, and if they took them away, things would go back to normal.

Like things could ever go back to normal.

Normal was when his skin was pale and unblemished, and Mom was alive, and he could sleep without screaming. Normal was when he could look at food without feeling sick, and Rosie could invite her friends over.

Like fucking _knives _would make a difference.

He just used razors. And scissors. Anything.

At night, he smashed his head against the wall, listening to the bangs echo in his head.

Further and further into the distance, deeper and deeper into the dark.

And nobody noticed, and nobody cared, as he slipped down and down, and he got detention almost every day, and life carried on, and he could no longer walk out of the house, without wanting to bleed.

Down

Down

Down

Deep was an interesting word.

It meant extending far from the surface. A deep hole. A hole that can't be dug out of, no matter how much people say it can. And what do they know about being this deep?

They've never been here, where the world seems so far away, and it no longer matters. They've never seen it, not like Dylan was seeing it now.

Illuminated.

Like it could carry on without him.

Like it would have to.

He wanted to leave now.

There was nothing left to stay for, and even if there was…

he couldn't get out of the hole.

He was too deep.

In too deep.

Too far in.

It all added up to one thing.

Alone.

He couldn't get out, and no one would get him out, and there was no reason to stay anyway.

And Dylan got thinner and thinner, and Benjamin drank more and more out of Granddad's whiskey cabinet, and Rosie started drawing pictures of her with a different family, where the Daddy was tall and proud, there was still a Mommy, and the brother was holding her in his arms, and he didn't want to die.

And her teachers noticed, but what could they do?

They talked about 'The Mee boy' in the staffroom at lunch. He wanted to kill himself, they said. He stopped eating, they said. It's because of the Mother, they said. Probably the Father too, they said. Do you think he gets bullied? They wondered. Who's his form teacher? They asked.

They asked too many questions, tried too many times. None of them seemed to understand that the hole was to deep and they couldn't get in to help him.

Cause then they'd get stuck too.

So he kept bleeding, inside and out.

And he broke through the plaster in his bedroom wall, so there was a hole the size of his head.

And he waited for they day when they would finally give up.

Cause they always did.

***A/N **

**Review?**

**And, I think I may introduce an OC, who will help him. What do you think? Boy or Girl? Kid or Adult? Hmmm?**


	5. Drifting out to Sea

I feel so damn lost,

And it comes with the cost of being alone

_Gotta Get Out – _5 Seconds of Summer

He didn't do it dramatically.

There was no note, or final farewell.

No last gesture.

Rosie didn't find him smiling in his bed.

Benjamin didn't find him in the bath.

In fact, the person who found him didn't even know his name.

He did it at school.

In the bathroom stall with the least graffiti.

That was the stall he always used.

But he didn't cut.

He didn't bleed all the red out, cause in the end, he couldn't be bothered. He was too tired, and going to sleep on top of a white washed old toilet was the only way he could see to get out of the hole.

They found him because he forgot to lock the door.

And they screamed when he wouldn't wake up, and started crying when they found an empty bottle of pills in his fist. It was only painkillers, and he'd taken all of them.

It wasn't like there was a guide easily available to teenage boys on how many pills to take if you wanted to OD.

And it had been easy just to tip them all in, and pretend that nothing had happened.

The girl who found him was in the boy's bathroom to buy some weed.

That night she got high, then pissed, then vomited everywhere, and went to sleep.

The next day, she skipped school, bought her little brother a birthday present, and decided to stay clean.

Afterwards, no one saw her in that bathroom again.

Even if she was still buying it, she never bought it there.

The teacher that she went to was Mr Carmichael.

Which later seemed ironic, after all the shit he had put Dylan through.

And he stared for what seemed like an age, until she said his name, and only then did he seem to realise that he was meant to do something.

He was meant to fix it.

So he picked Dylan up, and called an ambulance, and took his pulse, and long after they pumped his stomach, and called Benjamin, and put him in a hospital room,

Mr Carmichael stayed.

Because he realised that he was meant to fix it.

And no one had seemed to be trying.

They could pump his stomach and talk to him about help lines, but that would only patch it up.

He would fix it.

So Dylan woke up to a frantic Benjamin, and a crying Rosie, who didn't know what was happening, but knew that hospitals were bad.

And he wouldn't talk.

Eventually, they left, for dinner in the hospital cafeteria.

The door was closed behind them, and he could close his eyes and pretend to be home, back when it was all okay.

And if that failed, he could pretend that it had worked, and he was dead.

And nothing mattered anymore.

But then the door opened and someone turned the light on, and he had to open his eyes and come back.

But it wasn't Dad, or Roise.

It was fucking Mr Carmichael.

***A/N Sorry, but I'm not going to be on here for a week or so, cause I'm going away.**

**I'll write some more of this, and ****_Alone _****as soon as I can, though.**

**Review?**


	6. Pounding in the Dark

Everything you say

Is just a lie

And now I'm leaving

_All Eyes – _Imagine Dragons

***I wanted to call it 'Dylan gets his Sass on* but that didn't really fit***

He was so sick of everyone talking _at_ him all the time.

Cause they didn't talk to him, they just talked at him.

They didn't expect an answer, they just seemed to think if they talked around him, it would somehow make everything okay.

Bloody hell, was he sick of them saying things were going to be okay.

Like things had ever been okay.

Even before all of this shit.

Even before she died, or before she got sick.

This was the way things worked.

It was never okay, and if it was, something was going to ruin it eventually.

Or someone.

Someone like him.

But Mr Carmichael didn't talk at him.

No, he had this really annoying habit of talking to him, so that he was forced to talk back.

It was fucking annoying.

He didn't even have a choice.

One look from that _idiot_ and he was talking.

Goddamnit.

"It was a rather stupid way to do it"

"Oh, was it? Well, I'm sorry for not trying to kill myself in a way that you approved of"

He also always got pissed off when talking to him.

Standing there, in the hospital, looking like he was about to start giving him a lecture on the virtues of 2nd person.

"Why are you here?"

Really, he meant, get the hell out. But he didn't say that.

"I found you"

There wasn't really an answer to that.

"Actually, Brooke found you, and then got me. But I don't think you know her"

He rolled over, and stared at the wall. Get out. Please get out. Don't stand in here and talk to me about this, cause I really want to hit you.

He really did.

And he wouldn't have, if Mr Carmichael hadn't carried on. If he hadn't paused, then said in that tone Dylan was so sick of hearing.

"Your Dad is really worried."

Go. Away.

"I read your file."

Now.

"Your mom"

Nothing else. Just those two words, and before Dylan knew it, Mr Carmichael was on the ground, and he was on top and there was the pound of flesh on flesh and meat on meat, and the sound of someone in pain.

Later, he realised that it wasn't Mr Carmichael yelling, it was him.

And later, he wondered how he managed to get on top of him, and how he managed to stay on there as long as he did.

Cause it took him forever to even walk to the bathroom, and he knew he was skinny.

He wasn't skinny enough, but he was skinnier than Mr Carmichael.

He knew that.

But somehow it managed it, and nurses had to pull him off, and to be honest he didn't really remember it.

Afterwards, he fainted.

Mr Carmichael didn't, even though he gave him a broken nose, two black eyes and blood all over his face.

To be perfectly honest, it had felt really good.

Not fun and enjoyable, but like he had been wanting to do it for a long, long time.

Too long.

***A/N Go review 'Alone,' please for the love of God**


	7. How to Say it Without Screaming

Maybe you want it, maybe you need it

Maybe it's all you're running from

Perfection will not come

_All at Once – _The Fray

The kid was tiny.

He had never noticed it before, and he didn't know why it noticed it now, instead of noticing the blood on his face, but he did.

So fucking small, with so much rage in the tiny body.

Too tiny, really.

Apparently, not too tiny to bust him up, though.

He didn't know why he came back.

With stitches in his eyebrow and his nose, and swelling black eyes.

He should have sued, or got angry, or at least ignored him.

But, no, he came back.

Sometimes, Logan Carmichael thought he was really stupid.

Like now.

Walking back to his room.

(Cause they decided he should probably stay in the hospital, cause really, everyone knew he would try again. And Benjamin wouldn't be able to stop him)

Smiling at nurses like this was a common occurrence.  
When it bloody well wasn't

He remembered that assignment.

_Imagine you are a Jew in World War II _he had said.

_You are about to be shot by a Nazi, and just as he is about to, you look into his eyes _he had said

_What do you see?_

They all wrote about the emptiness of his eyes, or the evil.

But now he remembered Dylan's essay.

Not really an essay, not even a page.

_At first I see his anger, and his joy in killing me. I see the blackness deep, deep inside his eyes, and I am drowning in it._

_But then I look past the black, and the anger, and the blood lust._

_And all I see is my reflection._

Really, he should have seen it coming then.

It was obvious.

The kid hated himself.

But no, he had to be the fucking clueless teacher he was, and ignore it.

Dick.

Outside the door, he stopped.

There was no one else inside.

Dylan was still lying on the bed, facing the wall again.

He put his hand on the doorknob and decided to just do it.

It still took him about 2 minutes to open the door.

But he did do it.

Dylan didn't move.

He didn't move.

This kid was really good at staying still.

He sat down and cleared his throat.

Dylan didn't reply, so he talked.

He talked for hours.

About his mom, and how when she had died, she had been smiling.

About the way he had felt when he had to move to this new school.

About the time he got electrocuted plugging in the Christmas lights.

About how his wife couldn't have babies and sometimes at night she cried about it.

About the way his dog ate, spilling everything everywhere.

About the fact his dog would only eat one brand of dog food, and it was only sold at one supermarket.

About why he had become a teacher.

About his younger sister, and her wife, and how they lived the state over, and how he wanted to visit so badly.

And when he ran out of words, and his mouth was dry from talking too much, he got up.

And for lack of anything else to do, he rubbed Dylan's back and said to him;

"They love you"

And then there were two scrawny arms tight around his neck and the boy was crying and crying into his shoulder, and eventually he cried so much that he sort of collapsed into Logan, and then he was holding him as tight as he could.

And he really was so small.

Curled up, exhausted, and goddamnit, Logan just had to stay, hugging him on his lap, rubbing circles on his back, until he slowly, slowly, feel asleep.

***A/N I really have no excuse for this. **

**Thanks to **Anonymous **and **Crazy Person **for reviewing, you two made my day!**

**I'm sorry about the fact it's not on the WBAZ page, but fanfiction is being a bitch, and I can't figure it out. Arghh. **


	8. Its easier to Forget than Forgive

So all the cups got broke

Shards beneath our feet

But it wasn't my fault.

_Team – _Lorde

He woke up and realised that he had made a mistake.

He fallen asleep on someone else, and if he remembered right, he had cried.

Damn.

Distantly, Dylan figured that if Mr Carmichael was still here, it can't have been too bad.

But really, it probably had been.

He had punched him, and there had most definitely been blood.

So why had he stayed?

And why was still here?

And – wait.

Why was he still lying on his lap?

What.

Dylan sat up.

Well this was awkward.

(Goddamnit had he seen all the cuts and all the other - )

(shut up)

He didn't know what to do.

And by the looks of it neither did Mr Carmichael.

But Mr Carmichael was a teacher.

So he did what teachers do whenever things get awkward.

(No, he didn't ask about homework)

"Hello"

Dylan got off his lap.

And sat on his bed, covers up to his chin, and tried to act like nothing had been weird about that situation.

(shutup shutup shutup)

The voice was back.

He tried to ignore it, in the futile hope that, like before, it would go away.  
The door opened, and Dad came in.

Dylan had never been so happy to see him in his life.

He crawled further into the corner between the bed and the wall, blanket covering him and watched as they whispered to each other.

His wrist and his stomach ached and

(no not his stomach shut up he wasn't hungry shut up)

so did his fists where he had punched Mr Carmichael.

They both glanced at him, then carried on, looking like two teenage girls sharing secrets.

Fucking teachers.

Fucking parents.

Fucking people.

He gave up, and rolled over, staring at the wall again.

It didn't have dents in it like his wall at home, but he would find a way to do it.

He knew he would, cause he knew he had to, cause he knew if he didn't, it would get too much and –

no.

It didn't matter anyway cause he would find a way.

He would, and he always would.

Doesn't matter, it doesn't.

(Yes it does it does)

Shut up

(It does)

shutup shutp shutup shutup shutup shutup

goddamnit

The door opened, then shut, and he glanced over his shoulder to check who had left.

Mr Carmichael had gone, and Dad was back in his chair.

Dylan wondered where Rosie was, but really, he decided that it was probably good she wasn't here, cause he didn't want her to be here.

Stay home, Rosie.

And try and forget me.

Don't worry, I'll leave soon.

He must have fallen asleep, because someone was shaking him and he almost bit his tongue trying to get them off him.

"The Doctor is here Dylan"

They made him take more pills, and put shit into his IV

Which they made him wear, cause he was 'undernourished', but really he wasn't, and he didn't need to eat.

Then they talked for ages with Dad.

again.

Whispering in the corner.

again.

Until he gave up, and went to sleep again, trying not to notice the looks they gave him or the notes they wrote on the clipboard by his bed.

He ignored them.

He was getting better at that.

***A/N**

**This took ages, cause it was really hard, but I did it so.**

**Here you are.**

**Also I have absolutely no fucking clue where this is going, so review!**

**I need another conflict. Tell what should happen. Please. **


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